Chapter
Deepening Shadow of a Quiet City
When the two men left the bar an hour later, and after the last few drinks they had yet to polish off, they staggered into the smokey Farraway night and hacked as their lungs took in the smoke - a steep change from the clean-ish, rose-tinted air of the tavern.
To the west, the sky glowed threateningly from the sunken sun, as it did in the east from the wildfires raging across the plains between Farraway and the Capital.
Even without the fires, this time of year darkness was short-lived and the heat from the sun’s trip across the ravaged and parched sky would soon beat down on the plain which Farraway sat on with little mercy and no conscience. Summers were always bad on the Continent - but this one was, if the old timers were to be believed, the worst they’d ever seen. The fires, whether a result of the heat, or just bad luck, made it all the worse. Every breath burnt and the smell of ash, fire and char clung to every surface and soft material like glue. There was little to be done about the whole scenario other than to keep plugging along. Helsket knew this, but Mikel had yet to understand that concept.
“Are you staying somewhere?” Helsket asked with a mild slur. He’d drunk much that night, and although he was an old hand at drinking and drinking and then drinking some more, he had his limit and it was starting to show.
Mikel on the other hand looked as if he’d been dropped in a full whiskey barrel and had had to drink his way out or drown.
He looked at Helsket and his eyes crossed, making four of the old adventurer before he hiccuped and reached a hand to the wall of the tavern to support himself.
“No. I got in today -” He belched, fought down hot gorge in the back of his throat and looked at Helsket again - now only two of the older man were glaring down at him.
“Got in today and wanted to talk to you. If you didn’t want to come along on this, I had little intention of staying the night. I was going to head north, make for Stennin as soon as I could - maybe get there in a few days' time.”
Helsket barked a laugh and shook his head, the main of grizzled hair jerking like individual lively silver strands in the reddish glow of the false night.
“We should just head out,” Mikel hiccuped again and pointed south - the exact opposite way he needed to go.
“If we get a start now, we can be in Stennin by… Tomorrow afternoon, at the latest.”
Helsket laughed again, not bothering to say anything more - there would be no more travel tonight, that was apparent.
“You’ll be staying with me, young master,” He said as he stuck his arm out and kept Mikel from tipping over, “We’ll regroup in the morning, gear up and head out. You’re in no condition to do much other than sleep this drink off.”
Mikel scowled, knitting his eyebrows at Helsket, “Who’re you supposed to be? My dad?”
Helsket shook his head and laughed again as he saw so much of Mikel’s father in the younger man, he couldn’t help but reminisce. Too many times he and Lord Raithson had gone out drinking just like this, only for Mikel’s father to react in an eerily similar way.
“Nope. Not your papa, but pretty close.” He pulled Mikel into a bear hug with one arm and with the young man clamped firmly against him Helsket half walked, half staggered into the night towards his home on the outskirts of Farraway.
For the first time in many years, since his devesting at any rate, Helsket felt some semblance of happiness. It was true, he hadn’t taken the devesting as badly as the rest of the Retainers, but it still hadn’t been easy. He’d lost his home, his friends, and his family all in one ill-fated afternoon. It wasn’t fair - none of it was, especially for Mikel who was barely old enough to properly swing a sword.
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Yes - it was a strange happiness he felt now, and he accepted that.
If he’d been a bit more on his game he might have noticed something amiss underneath the bubbling joy which seemed to enervate him in so many ways.
He would have been on alert had he not drunk so much, and might have realized that in the harsh half-light of what passed for night this time of year, there were three sets of eyes watching the two men stagger forward in the deepening shadows of the quiet city, away from the tavern.
***
“You saw it, The Jewel,” one voice said. It was a masculine, deep baritone that shook the air around where it emanated from. The shadows the people whom the voices belonged to hid in deep shadows, deep enough to obscure them from all but the closest inspection and in many ways, better than that. There was something… different about the shadows, deeper, thicker, and more velvety than any natural shadow. It was as if Lady Darkness herself had cast down her cloak to lay over the three forms waiting like statues in the shadows to obscure them from any chance of discovery.
“Yes,” another voice said, this one clearly female. The voice husked at the end and she coughed quietly into the smokey night. Every one of the three tasted the thick air and sucked it down with mild agony.
“When we got this job, I didn’t expect to be trapped in this hellhole,” the first voice said, “That Jewel is worth more than what we’re being paid - I say we kill the old man, gut the boy and take the gem. We can pawn it off on the coast. It’s a quick trip there with your travel skill.”
The female voice barked a harsh laugh that only penetrated through the shadow to where the darkness met light - the sound died as it tried to cross that barrier.
“And sell it to who? That damnable gem has traded hands countless times among countless gallons of spilled blood. What do you suggest we do when our employer comes after us when we don’t show up and reports reach him that the young Raithson pup was killed? Our lives would be forfeit the second we began down that path. There is no redemption there.”
The first voice was about to issue a rebuttal, when the as of yet silent third voice picked up, “We don’t do it here. Too many eyes, too many questions. Even if someone dies of old age within the city limits there are questions, inquiries, paperwork to fill out and boxes to be checked. If any foul play is discovered, and it would be discovered, we would be exposed and vulnerable. Our main prerogative was to retrieve the jewel, but not get caught. We have our marching orders.”
This voice was cold and full of old metal - like the sound a frozen sword made as it’s drawn in the full bloom of winter. The man’s words cut and the annunciation ripped through the air like waves of blades, careening into the other two occupants of the shadow bubble as if they were wheat to be scythed down at harvest’s end.
“As you say, Lord,” The male voice said.
The sentiment was quickly mirrored by the female voice as the three shadows turned to follow Helsket and Mikel with their eyes only. They’d all been warned that Helsket, though older and a bit more drunk than usual, was still a massive threat. Legends were still told around mercenary and soldier campfires alike about the furious berserker of House Raithson. He wasn’t one to be underestimated - especially now he had his young charge by his side. The need to protect gave old soldiers something more than the usual mercenary - it gave them purpose and that made them, made Helsket, even more dangerous.
“We wait and we watch,” The third voice said, “My assessment is thorough. We need to kill Mikel to take the stone, but we need to do it elsewhere. From what our contact within the tavern told me the two are making for Stennin by way of the northern road as soon as they can.”
The female voice hissed, “That goes through the Sunken Folk ruins. I’d just as much stay clear of -”
The third voice barked an order for silence and the woman quieted. The harsh sound had ended, like all other noise, at the border of immaterial shadow and dusky light.
“You will go where you are told,” the cold voice said, “You are a tool in my hand. I will use you as I see fit and then cast you aside when you are spent - you are Bonded - there is no release for you but death.”
“Yes, Lord,” the woman said quietly, cowed by the tremendous display of verbal prowess emitted by the concealed third voice.
“Any questions, Philander?” The third voice asked the first male voice - Apparently, Philander.
“None, Lord,” Philander said in a tight voice, “None at all. As you say, we are Bonded and our Bond belongs to you. There is no life outside serving you - there is no freedom aside from when you set us free. We are yours to use.”
The third voice practically purred in satisfaction. Bonding the two thieves had been the best thing he’d ever done. He’d worked with many of their ilk, on many projects or schemes, but they never seemed to last longer than a few jobs before they broke down or saw the better side of morality they’d been missing their entire lives.
Either that or he hadn’t paid them well enough - the mind behind the third voice often wondered what would be the best way to coerce humans to do his bidding. He made a good showing most of the time, but lately, he’d been wanting… More.
He couldn’t place it, but the feeling was always present. He was getting old, but he still had energy as much as a man half his age - which was considerable when looking at how old he really was.
Philander spoke.
“So we wait? They’ll be passing through Tar’Xet soon enough. We’ll get them there. No questions among the dead and the creatures. They’ll just be two more corpses for the piles.”
The third voice rumbled the affirmative, his voice cutting through the silence of the shadow bubble. Soon the jewel would be his - but only for a moment - soon enough to his employer and then he’d be paid what was owed to him.